


Many The Miles

by ashavahishta



Series: 2012 'Verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:06:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis would be embarrassed by how his voice goes all low and husky, but it’s no secret between the two of them that he likes to leave marks. They both do; bites and bruises, slow kisses sucked into one another’s skin as a visible reminder of their time together.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many The Miles

The flight home from New Zealand drains them all.

Louis thinks the whole tour is starting to catch up to them; too many weeks of hard work and little sleep, too many hours on planes and in buses, running from concert to interview and back again. By the time they arrive in London all five boys are exhausted. Louis knows he looks pale, with bags under his eyes. His head feels heavy, his back sore from the flight. Liam and Zayn look similarly tired; Niall, the poor guy, has been sick for days. The stress is showing even on Harry’s face - his skin has broken out in irritated spots, much to Harry’s annoyance.

Back at their apartment complex, the boys exchange sleepy hugs before wandering slowly towards their own flats, dragging luggage behind them. Harry and Louis allow a companionable silence to settle between them as they head towards their door, Louis letting his mind drift longingly toward the big, comfortable bed waiting for them inside.

The flat is cold when Louis eases open the door, the air inside feeling empty and a bit stale. It’s good, though, to flip the light switches on and take in the familiar sight of their home. There’s the framed albums on the walls, the pictures of the band, their families, fan artwork plastered to their refrigerator. There’s their tv, the stupid knick-knacks Harry likes to pick up at markets, the squashy couch that’s perfect for late-night cuddling.

Harry’s on the phone to his mum as they wander inside, letting out a low, rumbling, ‘yeah,’ or ‘uh-huh’ every few seconds. Louis mouths ‘shower’ at him, and leans in to drop a quick kiss to Harry’s mouth. Harry returns it with a distracted smile, allowing Louis to take his bag from him and head up the stairs.

Harry is already in bed when Louis comes out of the shower, his dark curls smushed messily into the pillow, big green eyes gazing sleepily up at Louis. “Feel better?” Harry asks. He looks half-asleep already, eyelids drooping and body sunken gratefully into the mattress.

“Loads,” Louis offers a smile, tugging a pair of striped pyjama pants from his bag and slipping them on. He crawls into bed with a groan of pure happiness, allowing the blankets to wrap around him completely. The sheets are fresh and clean, smelling like fabric softener. 

He snuggles in closer to Harry’s heat, letting his hand fall to rest on Harry’s bare waist and dipping his head so their noses brush. “Hi,” Louis whispers. As tired as he is, he’s content right now, with Harry close and warm, back home in their bed. He didn’t realise how much he needed this.

“Hi yourself,” Harry whispers, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I’m glad we’re home.”

His deep voice wraps affectionately around the word _home_ , tucks it safe and sweet in the space between their mouths. Louis wants to swallow it, keep Harry’s gentle words and his warm smile somewhere deep inside him. He closes the small distance between them and catches Harry’s mouth in a slow kiss, cups Harry’s cheek in one hand. Harry hums a pleased little noise against his lips, shifts ever closer so their knees touch, so Harry can curl his hand around Louis’ neck, his thumb stroking at the spot just behind his ear.

Louis is close to falling asleep right then and there, the slow movement of their mouths against each other lulling him into a haze of warmth. He pulls away reluctantly, rests his cheek on the pillow beneath him and squeezes gently at Harry’s waist. “You’re still leaving in the morning?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out disappointed, but it does.

Harry frowns slightly. “You know I am,” he replies. “You know I have to. I don’t want to be here for it.”

‘It’ lingers between them for a moment, dirty and angry from Harry’s mouth. They both know what he means.

The video of them tipsily cuddling in a bar in Wellington had leaked during their flight, and the embarrassed boys had been pulled into yet another management meeting before the plane had even landed. It had been decided (commanded, Louis thinks irately), that Louis would immediately be seen with Eleanor upon his arrival home.

Harry had been the one who decided he was going directly to Cheshire, rather than witness Louis and Eleanor’s awkward role-play.

For a moment, Louis wishes he had the energy to argue. He wishes he could kiss the frown off Harry’s face, ask him to stay. Promise it will all be okay. It’s not, not really, and it’s their own fault. Louis doesn’t remember all the details of that night, but he’s well aware he was drunker than Harry. He knows he leaned in for a kiss and Harry had to hastily turn him and make his lean into a backwards hug. He remembers Harry’s lips on the nape of his neck, the whispered, ‘Careful, love.'

He certainly hadn’t known there was a camera nearby, but he should have. There are cameras _everywhere._

This is their punishment. Louis knew he would have to see Eleanor at some point during their break; that was inevitable. He wasn’t prepared for Harry refusing to stay in London, but he understands why.

Harry doesn’t hate Eleanor. He can’t, not when what’s happening to them isn’t her fault. Not when they need her. When pressed, Harry will admit that Eleanor is a perfectly lovely person and anyone would be happy to date her; he just hates that Louis has to pretend to. No, Harry doesn’t hate Eleanor, but he hates the situation they’ve been placed in, and he hates that she’s a part of that. Rather than let his own anger be taken out on an innocent woman, he prefers to just avoid her as often as he can.

Louis gets this. He’s careful to separate the two; his friendship with Eleanor (because it is a friendship now, it has to be), and his love for Harry. It’s a balancing act, and it feels like too much sometimes, but they’ve dealt with it all so far.

“I still don’t get why you have to leave completely,” Louis protests half-heartedly, and Harry sighs. His thumb rubs absently against Louis’ pulse point as he replies.

“I want to see my mum anyway, it just makes sense.”

“But then you’re going to LA for the wedding and it’ll be what, a week? Two? Before we see each other again.”

Harry’s full lips curve into a teasing smile, dimple appearing in his cheek. “You worried you won’t cope without me?”

“Yes,” Louis says without thinking. He taps a nervous rhythm against Harry’s waist with his fingertips, slightly embarrassed at the confession. Harry is silent and Louis tacks on a joke to cover the moment. “You’re the one who knows how to use that evil bloody dishwasher. There’ll be dirty plates all over the kitchen when you get back. You’ll be furious.”

Harry snorts. “The dishwasher isn’t evil, it just doesn’t appreciate you putting laundry liquid in it, you dolt. Besides, there won’t be any dirty plates because you can’t cook.”

“Exactly! So you’re leaving me alone to starve, basically.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll manage somehow,” he deadpans.

“You say that now,” Louis says, voice rising dramatically. “But you’ll regret it when you come home and find me passed out on the couch with a spoon of marmite in one hand, weak with hunger, ribs sticking out...”

Harry’s hand moves from his neck and trails down Louis’ bare chest to his stomach, where he pinches the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Mock-outraged, Louis pulls away with a gasp. “Are you calling me fat?”

Harry’s lips are pulling at the corners like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “No, I’m just saying you have a little extra...padding.”

His eyes are wide and innocent, shining clear grey-green in the dim light of the room. Louis can’t help but break into giggles. The exhaustion is probably making him a little crazy, he thinks distantly.

“Can’t all have bloody perfect abs,” he grumbles, but he’s still smiling.

Harry doesn’t bother replying and they fall into a drowsy silence, their breaths ghosting against one another's’ faces. Louis can tell Harry is close to sleep, his breathing deepening, mouth going soft and slack. He’s ready to drift off himself when a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Harry,”

“Mmm?”

“Haz!”

“What?” Harry grumbles, not opening his eyes. Louis nudges their noses together.

“We should have sex.”

Harry cracks one eye open, raising his eyebrow. “If that’s a seduction attempt, it’s the worst I’ve ever heard.”

Louis laughs and leans in to press a quick kiss to Harry’s pouty mouth. “No, I just mean because you’re leaving in the morning. We won’t be able to do it for _ages."_

Harry does not look convinced, although he has opened his eyes properly. “But I’m _tired_ ,” he whines. “We had sex this morning.”

“This morning we were halfway over the pacific and you were emptying sugar packets all over my clothes while I tried to sleep,” Louis points out. “We had sex _yesterday.”_

“Yeah, exactly. I still have your nail marks on my shoulders, you animal,” Harry replies. There’s a glint in his eyes and an edge to his smile that tells Louis he is not at all upset about this.

“Really?” Louis would be embarrassed by how his voice goes all low and husky, but it’s no secret between the two of them that he likes to leave marks. They both do; bites and bruises, slow kisses sucked into one another’s skin as a visible reminder of their time together.

In reply, Harry turns himself over, baring his back to Louis, who can’t contain a soft gasp. God, but Harry is gorgeous. Well, Harry is always gorgeous, but there’s something about the long, pale line of his back, the breadth of his shoulders and the way his curls brush the nape of his neck. Louis feels a sudden swoop of heat in his belly as he takes in the faint red lines on either side of Harry’s shoulder blades. Of course, they’re in the shape of his own fingers.

Louis remembers putting them there, although the detail is lost, his memories blurred. He remembers clutching at Harry, desperate and overwhelmed, remembers the feel of Harry thick and hard inside him. He remembers the shape of Harry’s mouth against his neck and the sound of his voice when he moaned, the way Harry moved above him, fast and a little rough.

“Wow,” Louis breathes. He reaches out and traces one long line with the pad of his finger, then splays his other fingers out to mimic the shape of the marks. He drags them along the lines, slowly, can’t believe he clawed at Harry like this. He kind of loves it.

Harry is quiet, but his breathing has quickened slightly and he’s trying to look at Louis over his shoulder. “You like ‘em, don’t you?” Harry asks. He sounds almost proud, a smile in his voice.

“You know I do.” Louis leans over and leaves a very slow, wet kiss over the lines, enjoying the softness of Harry’s skin under his lips. This time Harry gasps loudly. Louis smirks.

 

He flips Harry onto his back and straddles him, looks down at the other boy. Harry doesn’t look sleepy anymore; he looks intrigued, waiting patiently for what Louis will do next. Louis leans down, palms landing on either side of Harry’s head, and begins to lay slow, teasing kisses against his neck. Harry always smells wonderful here, a warm, earthy mix of shampoo and cologne and skin. It’s so familiar to Louis - Harry’s scent is the smell of home.

Louis thoroughly explores the length of Harry’s neck, pressing his lips against the skin and nipping gently at the line of Harry’s jaw. Harry’s breath is hitching, his hand curling in Louis’ hair. Harry’s naked, of course, and Louis can feel him getting hard. “You remember how you got those marks?” he asks against Harry’s neck, licking a lazy trail from collarbone to jaw. He feels Harry’s nod. “What was it that made you _fuck_ ” - (here Louis finds Harry’s ear and sucks the lobe into his mouth for a moment, lets his voice drop to a hot whisper) - “me so hard I was clawing at you?”

Harry just moans, his big hands reaching to close around Louis’ hips and squeezing tightly. Louis kisses behind his ear, licks the sensitive shell of it. His nose is getting tickled by Harry’s soft curls but Louis is so used to to the sensation by now he barely notices. “Hmm? What was it that made you so desperate I can still feel you?”

At this, Harry lets out a desperate little whine, and his hips jerk up a little so that his cock nudges up against Louis’ ass through his pyjama pants. Louis finally leans back enough to see Harry’s face. He’s gorgeously flushed, eyes bright, teeth digging into his lower lip. “That - that woman at the radio station,” Harry says, his voice verging on ragged. “The one who kept touching your arm.”

“That would be it,” Louis says triumphantly. He rewards Harry’s confession by sliding back, lets his ass rub in a slow tease over Harry’s dick so Harry’s eyes flutter and his hands tighten on Louis’ hips. “You’re such a jealous prick,” Louis says fondly. This time Harry rolls his hips up with a cheeky grin. “You love my prick,” Harry says.

“Yeah I do,” Louis says, breathy, not even bothering to joke. He finally just kisses Harry, tangling his fingers in Harry’s curls and licking his way into Harry’s mouth until they're both panting. He’s hard in his pyjamas and the rub of Harry’s cock against his ass makes him ache, makes him want Harry in him again. “How’s this for a seduction attempt?” he murmurs against Harry’s mouth, and Harry grins, wide and blinding.

“Not bad,” he says, and flips Louis onto his back.

Louis laughs, lets Harry tug his pants off and kiss him and touch him and forgets that Harry is leaving in the morning.

 

 

Louis wakes to a hand gently shaking his shoulder, to kisses against his cheeks and nose. “Lou,” Harry says softly. “Baby, I have to go.”

“Mrph?” says Louis eloquently, blinking owlishly. Harry is kneeling beside him on the bed, fully clothed. “Time s’it?”

“Eight,” Harry replies. “I told Mum I’d be home before lunch.”

Louis stares blearily up at him, his head cloudy with sleep. “Weeks,” he says unhappily, because the first thing that’s come into his head is how long it will be before he can see Harry again. It doesn’t make much sense, but Harry seems to understand.

“I know,” Harry sighs. “I wish -” he frowns and cuts himself off. “I know.”

“C’mere,” Louis demands softly, and tugs on Harry’s wrist. Harry flops down until he’s on top of him, his jeans harsh on Louis’ bare skin, the furry collar of his jacket against Louis’ chest. The jacket technically belongs to Louis, he thinks, but they swap clothes so often he’s never certain of what belongs to whom. It doesn’t matter. Louis pushes his fingers through Harry’s hair and Harry tucks his face into Louis’ neck, breathing deeply. They lay like that for awhile, just staying as close as they can.

“I really have to go,” Harry says, and doesn’t move.

He does, eventually. Presses kisses to Louis’ mouth and breathes _I love you’s_ into Louis’ ear, leaves the bed, comes back to kiss him one more time.

Then he’s gone.

Louis sighs, turns his face into the pillow and goes back to sleep.

 

 

 

Unsurprisingly, the flat feels empty without Harry in it. Louis mopes around for the first day, watching stupid movies and spending too much time sleeping. He tells himself he’s recovering from the tour, and he _is_ , it’s wonderful to rest for once, but mostly he’s distracting himself from being alone. It’s stupid, but Louis is terrible at living by himself. The dishwasher really does hate him, no matter what Harry says, and Louis can’t cook so he orders Chinese and accidentally ends up asking for Harry’s favourite meal out of pure habit. The couch is too big without Harry plastered along his side and watching TV is just boring without Harry whispering commentary into his ear.

Louis thinks about calling one of the other boys and going to bother them instead, but Liam has already left for a holiday with Danielle and Zayn is with Perrie; even Niall is all the way over in Ireland. Louis feels very alone for the first time in months, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Eventually he calls Stan and they chat for a long time, Louis revelling in the familiarity of his best friend’s voice. When he hangs up, everything feels too quiet and Louis sighs. “Pathetic, Tomlinson,” he says to himself, and goes to bed.

Louis makes good on his obligations the next day, making sure to be seen with Eleanor in public and watching as the fan reports go streaming all over the internet. He actually likes spending time with Eleanor; she’s sweet and down to earth and kind of goofy in a way that’s really charming. Louis thinks he actually would date her, if he was straight and wasn’t already thoroughly entwined with a certain other brunette, curly-haired goofball.

 

 

When he gets home that afternoon, Louis packs his bags and heads home to his mother’s. He can’t stand the thought of another night alone in his and Harry’s bed.

Home is warm and welcoming and gloriously familiar. Louis cuddles with his sisters and eats his mum’s food and sprawls all over the sofa playing video games for hours, thrilled to not think about anything for awhile. His bedroom is nearly exactly the same as it was before X-Factor, complete with his old school books shoved messily into a drawer in his wardrobe. It’s strange that it feels like home at the same time as it doesn’t. Louis is happy to be there, and the house carries all his childhood and his family in it, but home, he’s starting to think, is wherever Harry happens to be. He wonders when that changed.

They talk that night, Louis curled in his single bed with the phone clutched to his ear. He’s felt jittery and out of place for days, and it’s amazing how Harry’s voice calms him. Louis finds himself relaxing into the pillow as Harry talks about his day, lets Harry’s deep, slow voice wash over him.

“I miss you a lot,” Harry says after awhile. “It feels like my arm’s been ripped off or something.”

 

Louis isn’t surprised by the raw honesty in Harry’s words. Harry is just like that; heart on his sleeve, or more accurately, in his eyes and his smile. He’s been pulled up on it before, management pointing out his face in pictures and saying, _‘You can’t look at Louis like that, Harry.’_ Louis still remembers how Harry had stared them down, had replied with a blank, _‘How am I supposed to control that?’_

It scared Louis at first, Harry’s intensity and his honesty, the way he lays everything so bare with no regret and no fear. In the early days of their friendship (or relationship, wasn’t it, even then?) - Harry had never even tried to hide his feelings. _I really like you,_ he’d murmur against Louis’ hair when they pulled out of a hug, _You’re so great,_ he’d gush after Louis sang, _I really want to kiss you,_ he’d whisper into the darkness as they lay watching TV at night. Louis hadn’t known how to deal with that, how to respond to the way Harry threw himself headfirst into things, how he loved with his whole being and refused to be cautious about it.

 _You can’t just say things like that,_ he’d said once because Harry had breathed _I love you I love you I love you so much it makes me feel like I’m exploding sometimes,_ into his hair as they lay curled together in the early morning sunlight. _Why,_ Harry had responded, genuinely curious. He’d traced patterns on Louis’ chest with his fingertips, spelled his own name out, drew stars and moons and suns on Louis’ skin.

 _Because,_ Louis had sputtered, not really coming up with a reason. _Aren’t there some things you want to keep to yourself? Aren’t...don’t you feel vulnerable, doing that?_

 _Sure_ Louis felt Harry shrug, unapologetic (and oh, what a perfect word that is to describe Harry Styles. Harry’s whole life is unapologetic.) _Sure,_ Harry had said. _But I’d rather say it than just let it escape. I’d rather you knew how I feel._

 _I know,_ Louis had said, and captured Harry’s hand, kissed his fingers. _And you know I..._ He didn’t have the words, couldn’t say it back as bravely as Harry had.

 _I know._ Harry had said, and drew a heart on Louis’ shoulder.

 

 

“I miss you too,” Louis says, and his words are plain but he trusts Harry to know how much he means it. “I don’t sleep properly without you here.”

It’s true; even the single bed feels too big without Harry spooned against Louis’ back or throwing an arm over his waist. Louis has been tossing and turning the last couple of nights, missing Harry’s familiar warmth.

“Niall’s going to the JLS concert in Sheffield tomorrow night,” Harry says, apparently apropos of nothing.

Louis frowns, surprised by the random remark following his heartfelt confession. “...and?”

“That’s only an hour or two from here. Close to you, too.”

Louis can feel the idea forming in his head almost instantly, and knows without asking that Harry is thinking the same thing. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been to a concert that wasn’t our own,” he muses, and Harry gives a throaty chuckle.

“We should really go,” he says. “For...research. You know. Check out the competition and all that.”

“Mm-hmm,” Louis hums. He’s smiling without even realising, his heart leaping at the thought of seeing Harry again.

“Ask Niall what hotel he’s staying at and get us a room, alright? I’ll meet you there.”

“We have to be careful, love,” Louis reminds him, as much as he hates to be the responsible one. “Arrive separately and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry brushes off caution as easy as breathing. “I don’t give a toss, I just want to see you.”

“Me, too.” Louis agrees immediately.

He doesn’t sleep well that night either, but this time it’s because he’s too excited.

 

Louis bids goodbye to his mother and sisters the next morning, and it’s nearly noon by the time he arrives at the hotel Niall had booked. His friend greets him in the lobby and Louis envelopes him in a hug, admitting to himself that Harry is not the only one of his band members he’s missed recently. Niall pats him on the back and tells him how good it is to see him, rambles about his trip home as they head towards the lift. Louis doesn’t ask where Harry is; it had been his own idea for them to try not to be seen together on this little trip. He hates it, but if they’re not careful Harry’s going to be linked to yet another random starlet in the papers tomorrow as a consequence. Louis knows the way this game works, now.

By the time the lift arrives on their floor Louis is near-vibrating with excitement, his heart pounding, blood thrumming. Niall gives him a knowing look. “Chill out, would you mate? It’s been like three days.”

“Shut up,” Louis mutters, but he actually can’t wipe the stupid grin off his face. He jumps up and down a few times as they walk down the corridor, his whole body bouncing with the thought of Harry being so close by. “C’mon c’mon c’mon,” he chants as Niall fiddles with the room key, and then they’re finally inside. The door closes behind them and there’s _Harry_.

Niall must leap out of the way as Harry flies at him, his arms wrapping around Louis’ waist so tight that Louis is lifted off the ground. He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and his arms around Harry’s neck, laughing joyously as the force of the hug slams them both into the door. Harry’s holding onto him so tightly it aches and Louis clings to him, buries his face in Harry’s curls and just breathes.

Eventually their grip loosens, at least enough for Louis to drop his legs from around Harry’s waist and be lowered carefully to the floor. They get a good look at each other for the first time, and Harry looks as happy as Louis feels, his eyes sparkling, his grin goofy and wide. Louis feels like his face might split he’s smiling so hard. He cups his hands around Harry’s face, his thumbs touching at those beloved dimples, and whispers a tender, “Hi, you,” before bringing their mouths together.

It’s not the best kiss he’s ever had, because they’re both still smiling and their teeth kind of clack together, but Louis leans into it all the same, stroking Harry’s cheeks. Harry’s hand splays over the small of his back and presses him closer so Louis arches a little into his body, having to rise onto his toes very slightly. _That’s_ new. Harry has definitely grown lately but it’s the first time he’s actually had to lean up like this to meet Harry’s kiss. Louis quite likes it, likes how Harry feels big and warm and strong wrapped around him.

They kiss for a long time, giddy with it, grinning stupidly against each others’ mouths. Louis is faintly aware of Niall laughing at them in the background and feels a shock of surprise. He had completely forgotten the other boy was in the room.

“...guys are ridiculous,” Niall is saying, or something of that nature. Louis is far too interested in the way Harry’s hand has rucked up the fabric of his shirt to touch the skin of his back. “..to my room, I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven.”

“Okay mate, whatever,” Harry mutters, not looking away from Louis for a second. His hands move from Louis’ back to the front of his pants, hooking into the beltloops of Louis’ jeans and tugging. Louis follows easily and Harry walks backwards, keeping their eyes locked until he hits the couch in the middle of the room and falls back into it.

“Seven!” Niall yells with another laugh and the door slams as Louis sinks into Harry’s lap, his knees spreading on either side of Harry’s hips.

Louis rests his hands on Harry’s shoulders and kisses him deeply, focuses on nothing more than the way Harry’s mouth opens instantly beneath him, how wet and warm he is inside. It’s so good Louis is dizzy with it, feels the kiss in his toes and his fingertips. Harry grabs at him, his hands roaming up the length of his spine to clench in his hair before travelling down again, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch. Louis moves his hands from Harry’s shoulders to cup the back of his neck, letting his fingers slide through his hair. Harry _loves_ getting his hair played with and he makes a strange noise in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at Louis’ back. Louis shifts closer in his lap and he can feel Harry getting hard but it’s a distant thought at first, Louis so intent on kissing him as much as possible.

He almost doesn’t notice the way his own hips have started to rock slightly, that he’s trying to get closer and rub his growing erection against Harry’s stomach. He just wants them to be touching _everywhere_. Harry’s hand slides around to his front and pushes his shirt up so he can rub his thumb in maddening circles against Louis’ hip. His other palm is spread wide over Louis’ ass, squeezing and groping so Louis’ cock twitches in his jeans. He wants everything right now, so bad it hurts. He bites Harry’s lip and says, “Haz, Haz,” surprised at how rough he sounds, wrecked and breathless.

Then both Harry’s hands are on the front of his jeans, grabbing and yanking at the button and zipper. It’s only enough for Louis’ cock to be released but it doesn’t matter because Harry’s fingers are wrapping around him instantly. Louis moans, _loud_ , and his hips buck into Harry’s touch. He makes himself slide back enough to fight with Harry’s pants until Harry’s dick is out too, flushed and stiff against his belly. It’s just a mess of hands as they try to touch each other as much as they can, desperate and too fast. Louis writhes in Harry’s lap, thrusting into his hand as he tries to stroke him off at the same time. His wrist is hurting from the angle but it doesn’t matter, it’s so _good._

He leans his forehead against Harry’s and looks down between them, watching as their cocks slide through their fists. They’re both wet, there’s precome everywhere, dripping over Harry’s long fingers. Harry is muttering, a breathless, “C’mon baby, yeah c’mon,” and it’s his voice more than anything that sets Louis off. He shudders when he comes, his body wracked with it because he hasn’t gotten off since Harry fucked him days ago. It makes such a mess, his come all over their hands and slicking Harry’s cock. Louis tightens his hand and runs his thumb over the head until Harry’s coming with a ragged groan.

They’re both fully clothed with their dicks out and wet between them, and they’re panting and sweaty and red and this is _ridiculous_ , Louis thinks. He collapses on Harry and lets out an exhausted, giddy laugh. Harry tips his head back against the arm of the couch and laughs too, his hand rubbing lazy circles on Louis’ back.

 

 

 

The JLS concert is brilliant, the first time they've been to a show in ages. It's perfectly loud and Niall bops along beside them, as cheerful as ever. Louis smiles and sings along, happily aware of Harry's arm slung over his shoulders. After, they slip backstage to hang out with the boys for a bit, laughing and telling stories. Marvin invites them to the after-party but Louis refuses for both of them; he's all too aware of how little time they have left together and he wants to spend as much of it as possible in bed. Harry must agree, because his hand slips down to squeeze Louis' hip as he excuses himself with an entirely unconvincing, 'I'm really tired.' Niall grins at them like he knows exactly what they're planning, but it's all fondness as he gives them each a hug and tells them to 'Enjoy yourselves. Really.'

By the time they arrive back at the hotel it's nearly midnight, but Louis doesn't feel tired. In fact, he's buzzing. His ears ring a little from the concert (which he figured he'd be used to by now, but it seems different when it's not his own show), and there's a pleasant warmth in his body from the beer they'd drank backstage. Harry is similarly affected; his cheeks are pink, walk loose and languid. Louis slips his arm around Harry's waist as they step off the lift and doesn't bother fighting him off when Harry leans down to leave wet, dirty kisses on his neck. “Want you,” Harry whispers against his ear, and Louis shudders, trying not to stumble. Harry learned a long time ago just how sensitive Louis' ears are, how he can lick at the shell of them or bite at his earlobes and leave Louis a shivering mess. He's used this to his shameless advantage ever since, ghosting his lips over Louis' ear onstage, in public, whispering dirty words or sometimes just breathing hotly against the skin. It always _ruins_ Louis, makes him tense up, flush with heat, lose his train of thought. There's been more than one occasion that Harry's gotten him hard mid-concert, then walked off, smirking.

Louis hates it nearly as much as he loves it.

“Want you,” Harry whispers again, his hand trying to sneak down the back of Louis’ jeans and palm his ass. “Wanna get my hands all over you, get my mouth on you, wanna feel you -”

“Harry,” Louis begs weakly as he steers them down the hallway. Harry’s only response is to start sucking his earlobe and Louis hisses through his teeth, his hand clenching on Harry’s waist. He’s too hot and his cock is starting to feel thick and hard, his jeans tight. Harry keeps murmuring filthy words against Louis’ ear as Louis fumbles with the keycard and it’s all Louis can do not to slam him up against the wall right here.

They finally get inside and Louis manages to push Harry off him with a tight, “Clothes,” and Harry just grins brightly and starts tugging at his shirt. Shoes, shirts and pants go flying as they undress haphazardly and Louis ends up sprawled naked on the bed with a smiling Harry leaning over him. Harry kisses him and Louis allows him to control it for now, opening himself up for Harry’s tongue and sinking back into the mattress. He spreads his legs almost automatically and Harry settles into the cradle of his hips, their cocks brushing between them. Louis moans, bucking so his cock rubs against Harry’s flat stomach. He bends his knees so they bracket either side of Harry’s hips and Harry moves against him hot and fast, kissing him harder.

He doesn’t want this to end too soon, wants to take his time and make the whole night worth it. So Louis calms the kiss and his hands close around Harry’s hips, guiding his movements so they’re slower and smoother. “Hey, hey,” he says against Harry’s mouth. “We’ve got all night, yeah? Just go slow with me.”

When Harry opens his eyes, he already looks wrecked. His pale skin is flushed pink, mouth swollen. Louis smooths his thumb against it, feels how soft and plush it is. Harry just watches him, green eyes dark and hooded. _He’s so fucking beautiful_ , Louis thinks, not for the first time. “Yeah,” Harry agrees finally, his voice even more gravelly than usual.

This time when Harry ducks down to kiss him it’s much slower but no less dirty. He licks the inside of Louis’ mouth, along his teeth, sucks his lower lip into his mouth until Louis’ whining softly. He _loves_ kissing Harry. It was all they did when they first got together; they’d curl up on couches or in beds, lips moving against each other until they were sore and puffy. Even now, sometimes all he wants is to just sit slide into Harry’s lap and kiss him breathless.

Louis relaxes back into the bed and lets himself be kissed, running his hands over Harry’s shoulders and neck. His legs are still up, heels resting on the back of Harry’s knees and if he digs them in he can draw Harry forward, letting their cocks rub together in teasing little thrusts. It’s better like this, a slow build of heat curling in his belly and under his skin. Harry’s mouth moves from his mouth across his jaw and down his neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses which move slowly down Louis’ collarbone, his chest. Harry looks up at him and smiles before he takes Louis’ nipple in his mouth, his eyes glinting. The touch sends electricity racing through Louis’ body and he arches into it, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair.

Harry wasn’t kidding about wanting to get his mouth all over him, Louis thinks dizzily. He’s incredibly thorough as he maps Louis’ body with his mouth; dots kisses over his shoulders and arms, bites at the juncture between shoulder and neck, skims his lips over Louis’ ribs and grins when Louis shivers. Harry seems absolutely determined to leave Louis a quivering mess, taking Louis’ suggestion to go slow to heart and it’s most incredible torture Louis has ever experienced. He closes his eyes and lets his fingers twist harder into Harry’s hair, and his whole world seems to narrow down to where Harry’s mouth will travel next. He can’t predict it; Harry goes from layering featherlight kisses under Louis’ ear to sucking a massive, throbbing bite into the base of his neck, then switches to running his tongue in soft licks over Louis’ nipple. It’s not long before Louis’ biting his lip, his whole body strung tight and oversensitive, fever-hot. There’s gentle little bites over his belly and then Harry spends _ages_ on his hips, licking over the curve of them while Louis tries to remember to breathe.

Louis whimpers helplessly when Harry completely bypasses his aching cock and lowers his mouth to Louis’ thighs instead. His hands close around them, pull them apart so Harry can sink his teeth into the soft flesh, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue. “God, Harry,” Louis says desperately.

Harry doesn’t pause, just makes a happy little humming noise and bites him again. He’s knows exactly what he’s doing, the little bastard, and Louis is determined to not be the only one going mad with arousal right now. He tugs hard on Harry’s hair, encouraging him to leave his spot between Louis’ thighs and move back up to kiss his mouth again. Louis cherishes Harry’s gasp of surprise when he uses the distraction to flip them over, straddling Harry’s hips.

Harry blinks up at him, dazed. “Fuck, look at you,” he says roughly, and Louis glances down. He’s absolutely _covered_ in marks, red splotches in the shape of Harry’s mouth everywhere he looks. “I like it,” he says simply, even though he’s pretty sure Harry knows this already. “Means I’ll remember it.”

Harry just keeps staring and he raises his hands to touch. He flattens his palms over Louis’ stomach, slides them up his chest and over his neck. He seems to be just touching for the sake of it and Louis lets him. He’ll never get enough of the way Harry touches him; reverent and so tender, like he can hardly believe he’s allowed. When Harry’s hands cup his face Louis turns his head to press his lips to the inside of Harry’s wrist. Harry’s got wonderful wrists, strong but beautifully slender with the delicate bones outlined by thin, pale skin. It’s almost unbearably soft and Louis closes his eyes and sucks gently at Harry’s pulse, feeling it thump against his tongue. He takes Harry’s hand in his own and lets his mouth close over Harry’s thumb, gently sucks down his index finger. Louis has a mild obsession with Harry’s hands and he takes his time licking and sucking at each long, elegant finger. His skin tastes a little salty, warm and oddly familiar.

When Louis opens his eyes he finds Harry staring at his mouth, seemingly transfixed. Louis smiles lazily and takes Harry’s finger into his mouth again, sure to slide his lips slowly down past the first and second knuckle. He lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet pop but goes down again, tightening his lips and running his tongue against the pad of Harry’s finger. Harry curses, his breath hitching. “Lou,” he says softly. “God, you’re...god, you’re amazing.”

Louis releases Harry’s middle finger, but not before getting it good and wet. “Yeah, I know,” he says with a pleased grin. “You totally don’t deserve me.”

Harry rolls his eyes but his dimples are still showing, his expression fond. “I think I _deserve_ to fuck you after all that, you tease.”

Louis leans away from Harry’s body for a moment to fumble in the drawer of the bedside table, returning triumphant with a bottle of lube in one hand. “I’m sorry, who was it exactly that just held me down and wouldn’t stop until he’d kissed everywhere he could reach? I believe you are the tease tonight, Mr. Styles.”

“I regret nothing,” Harry declares grandly, his smile wide like he knows how ridiculous that is. He watches in fascination as Louis takes his hand and starts drizzling lube over his first two fingers. Louis curls his fingers around Harry’s wrist and guides his hand down and back. The moment Harry’s finger starts circling his hole Louis is gasping, surprised by the shock of pure _want_ that rockets down his spine. It’s been a couple of days now and Louis feels like he’s much tighter than usual, having to breathe out hard as Harry’s finger starts pressing gently inside him. Harry seems utterly fascinated by this, watching Louis’ face intently as he pushes deeper. Louis can feel the way his body closes around Harry’s finger, and it’s the first time in awhile he’s had to work to make himself relax around the intrusion. He’s flushing, biting his lip as he focuses on breathing. He _wants_ this, loves Harry’s long, clever fingers in him. Louis rolls his hips down a little, welcoming the push and stretch of Harry’s finger and whimpering when Harry adds a second. “You like this so much,” Harry observes, sounding awed. Louis just nods shakily and rides him a little harder.

They work up to three fingers torturously slow, until Louis feels loose and warm and wanting. Harry’s sliding into him easy now, up to the knuckle on each thrust and Louis’ panting, his hand on his cock. When Harry starts curling his fingers he nearly loses it completely, because of course Harry knows the exact angle to drive him nuts. Louis makes a truly embarrassing noise, something like a gargle in the back of his throat, and reaches back to grab Harry’s wrist, still his movements. “Oh god, stop, I actually want your dick in me before I come.”

Harry grins. “So do it already.”

Louis grabs for the lube again and drizzles a generous amount on Harry's cock before shifting back and guiding the head of it towards his entrance. He's looser now but he still gasps as the head of Harry's dick pushes past the ring of muscle. Harry moans his name and Louis sinks down all the way, so he can feel every inch of his cock inside.

"F-fuck," Harry breathes out, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Lou, god, I need -"

"Yeah," Louis says. "Mm, yeah, I know."

He's selfish at first, working his hips in slow rocking movements as he adjusts to the thickness of Harry's cock. God, it's so good to feel the way his body opens around him, how _full_ he is. Harry's hands are wrapped around his hips, just holding at first but then squeezing urgently when Louis doesn't speed up.

"Lou," Harry says again, and his hands try to guide Louis' hips, try to make him go faster. "Babe, c'mon, _move_ ,"

Louis takes pity and rests his hands on Harry's chest, uses it to hold himself steady as he sets a slightly faster rhythm. This is why he loves riding Harry so much. He loves that he's the one getting fucked, but really it's Harry who always falls apart when they do this. He can control his own movements, almost use Harry to get off and Harry just has to lie there and _let_ him.

He twists his hips a little, changing up the angle so Harry whines, his mouth dropping open. When Louis slams back harder, Harry groans, his neck arching. This is the best part, watching each and every one of Harry's reactions to his movements. Well, that and having Harry's perfect cock inside him.

He's drawn it out so long that Louis isn't surprised to realise he's not going to last much longer. His cock is achingly stiff, hot in his own hand as he strokes himself roughly. He can feel the build of it in his belly and the base of his spine, the way his pulse is racing, his breath shaky. Louis changes his position, curls down so he can kiss Harry at the same time as he rides him. His cock ruts against Harry's belly and Louis is nearly overcome by the feeling, how his cockhead leaves a wet trail of precome over Harry's skin. He wants Harry to come first, wants to feel him shoot inside him hot and wet.

Louis plants his knees on the bed on either side of Harry's hips, buries his face in Harry's neck to suck deep kisses into it and he just _goes_ for it, rocks back fast and hard and urgent. It's artless and messy and Louis' whole body seems to zero in the feeling of Harry slamming in and out of him. Harry is trying to thrust up, his hips bucking but it throws off Louis' rhythm and he's so _close_ now, so he pins Harry's wrists to the bed and takes back control.

"Haz, you gotta come for me okay, I need you to come," Louis babbles, moving impossibly faster and his head is spinning now, so close so close _god_ he needs to come. "Come in me, babe just do it I want your come inside please Harry, come in me, _please_ ,"

Harry's hands grab at his ass, splaying out over it and probably leaving ten perfect finger shaped bruises as he pulls Louis closer, gets in so _deep_ that Louis nearly yells and then Harry's coming, pulsing hot into him. Louis squeezes desperately at Harry's wrists and bites his neck, feels the groan rumbling up Harry's throat beneath his lips. It's the feel of Harry's come warm and wet inside him that gets Louis off in the end and he only needs to get his hand on himself for one, two, strokes before he's spilling messily onto Harry's belly.

 

They lie together for a long while, not moving and waiting for the world to come back into focus. Louis feels utterly boneless, his ears ringing a little from his intense orgasm. He’s sure if he tried to stand up he’d just wobble a bit and fall back into bed. “God,” Harry says eventually, and doesn’t seem to have much else to say. “God.”

“Mmm,” Louis agrees lazily. He eases himself off Harry with a low groan and collapses beside him. “Sleep,” he murmurs, and has time to press a messy kiss to Harry’s hair before falling into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

Louis wakes to a hand gently shaking his shoulder, to kisses against his cheeks and nose. “Lou,” Harry says softly. “Baby, I have to go.”

it’s horribly familiar, kissing Harry goodbye while his body still aches from their lovemaking, when he knows Harry will be gone for over a week this time. Louis feels better this time, maybe because he has the reassurance of their time together last night. He knows for sure that Harry missed him just as much, that Harry was as desperate to see him again, that Harry loves him. So it’s with a lighter heart that Louis lets Harry slip from the bed this time.

 

 

Harry goes to Los Angeles, and Louis goes to Manchester, and it’s fine. It is. They text and talk constantly, flirty little messages and longer conversations, not caring about the time difference. Louis’ body holds the memory of their hotel room for days, aching pleasantly in all the right places. He stares at himself in the mirror too often, catalogues the dozens and dozens of marks Harry left on his skin. There’s bitemarks on his chest and stomach, bruises in the shape of Harry’s gorgeous big hands branded into his hips. His inner thighs are a mess of kiss-shaped purple blotches, like ink under his skin. On the day Louis goes to the football with Stan he has to dress up ridiculously, buttoning his shirt all the way to cover the enormous hickey Harry had left on his neck. Stan just smirks at him when he spots the hint of it under his collar, nudging him and saying, “Your fella got a bit enthusiastic, didn’t he?”

Louis blushes and fidgets, trying to get the collar up even higher. He should have worn a scarf. “Shut up, Stan.”

Harry laughs when Louis tells him about it on the phone that night. “You gave as good as you got, you know,” Harry says. “This girl I was talking to last night saw all the marks on my neck, you should’ve seen her face.”

“Did you tell her you had a very possessive and jealous boyfriend?” Louis asks, amused and smug. He realises that the hand that isn’t holding his phone is on his hip, tracing the shape of Harry’s fingers.

“No,” Harry says with a smile in his voice. “But it was probably implied.”

“Good,” Louis says, and presses down on one of the bruises to feel it ache. “That’s good.”

 

The night before Harry is due home from Los Angeles, Louis manages to cook for himself, tidies up because Harry is hilariously picky about mess around the flat, and hops into the shower. He notes that almost all of the marks have faded completely, but it doesn’t matter now that Harry is coming home. He doesn’t need the reminder of Harry’s possession spelled into his skin because he’ll be able to see it on Harry’s face and feel it in his kiss. He doesn’t need lovebites on his collarbone to know that they belong to each other.

He just really likes them.

The bed still feels empty without Harry beside him but Louis falls asleep quickly, knowing he’ll get to see him in the morning.

 

 

Louis wakes to a hand gently shaking his shoulder, to kisses against his cheeks and nose. “Lou,” Harry says softly. “Baby, I’m home.”  
  



End file.
